AESOP Returned from TUNBRIDGE: OR, AESOP out of his Wits. In a Few Select Fables, In VERSE.  
LONDON, Printed for J. F. in Bedlam.   

THE PREFACE.  
AESOP, it seems, has been a little disturbed of late, and it has been argued Pro & Con, amongst the Virtuosos, whether his Indisposition was the effect of Tunbridge Waters, or Company. He himself has absolved the Waters, and condemned the Company, which has obliged 'em in their own Justification to send him to Bedlam to have his own Brains set right, for endeavouring to rectify theirs.  
Since his Retirement two more have started up from Bath and White-Hall, that, like the two Demetrius' in Muscovy, need only be seen to discover the Imposture. But to avoid the Fate of their Predecessor of Tunbridge, they have taken Measures very different from his, and to save Dr. Tie— n the trouble of Purging their Brains, have agreed to carry none about 'em.  
Upon these comes yet another; whether with better Title than the former, is a question, Reader, we leave thee to decide. Only I shall take the liberty to give thee some Hints, for the better Information of thy Judgement. First then as to his Person, it has resemblance enough to old Aesop's (or the Picture of him, at least, at Planudes, and others, have drawn it) that had he left any Legitimate Issue behind him, Ours might very well plead his Figure in evidence of his Descent from the old Beau of Samos; and the Posture and Condition of their Intellects, make out the Relation betwixt him and the Bully of Tunbridge. For this confesses himself out of his Wits when he writ, and tother, by universal Consent, mad to Write what he writ.  
But let me whisper one thing in thy Ear, upon condition of secrecy, if thou wilt give me thy Word and Honour not to disclose it to any Body; I'll assure thee they were both Mad, and so much the fitter for the Task they have undertaken. For who the De— l but a Madman would venture to write Truth at this time of Day? To deal frankly, the Old Fellow before 'em was much such another sort of Spark. He either had, or thought he had Wit, which is much at one to an Author, and could never leave showing his Brains, till a parcel of Blockheads knocked 'em out. He took his Hint from the Women of his Time, who did as they do now, every one that could be convinced by her Glass, that she was no Beauty, set up for a Wit; and if she could not please People with her Face, could vex 'em with her Tongue, which was equivalent as to point of Self-satisfaction. For let either Vanity, or Malice be gratified, and we are well enough. But as I was saying, Aesop imitated the Women in that Piece of Cunning; for 'tis apparent he could not the Men, for they haven't learned that Craft yet to Piece out the Defects of their Persons with a Superfluity of Understanding. But every Humpbacked, Hard-faced Scarecrow is dressed up in a Lac'd-Coat, and a Long Wig, to set off its Deformity, and make it more gloriously Ridiculous; and the fine empty Thing, that Nature made, as the Chinese do their Baubles, for the Ornament of a Drawing-Room, is perpetually endeavouring to squeeze itself into the Press, and labouring in Dull Madrigal, or Scurvy Lampoon, to expose it's own want of Wit, and its Friend's, and not content with the Reputation of a Fool amongst its Acquaintance, must publish it in Print to the World.  
But what's all this, Reader, to thee and I, that be sure have more Wit? These Aesop's are Perilous Bold Fellows, and have Plaguy Tongues: But what of that? Let the Beast that is galled, wince; and let thee and I laugh to see 'em kick and fling like Ralpho's Ass with a Thistle under his Tail, 'tis nothing to us, that have (as I said before) more Wit, than to come within the reach of one's Tongue, or tother's Heels: And so I take my leave of thee.   

AESOP Returned from TUNBRIDGE.  

FAB. I. Aesop sent to Bedlam.  

AESOP o'ercome with Wind and Spleen,  
At Tunbridge sought relief;  
In hopes that change of Air, and Scene,  
Might ease him of his Grief.   

But there such Shoals of Fools he met,  
And Knaves twice dipped in Grain;  
Not the famed Waters they were at,  
Could e'er take out the Stain.   

In vain a Friend among the Youth  
He fought all Tunbridge round;  
Till sneaking Solitary Truth  
He in a Corner found.   

Thus met, they readily agree,  
And did strange Tales devise,  
Labouring to make those Coxcombs see,  
That would put out their Eyes.   

Till nettled at their just Reproof,  
The Knaves and Fools combine;  
And him, and his Companion both  
To a dark Room confine.   

Next Stage, they knew not why nor how,  
For London they were bound;  
Where both of 'em together now,  
In Bedlam may be found.   

In vain we strive men's Errors to correct,  
Or point out Follies which themselves neglect.  
Fools are a stubborn Race, and hard to break,  
Wisdom's the only Gift they scorn to take;  
And he that shows his Brains to such a Rout,  
Takes a fair way to have 'em beaten out.  
Wise Men in them alone mistake their Tools.  
Knaves only have the skill to manage Fools.  
Let empty Fops be proud of their Mishap,  
For he that takes it off, deserves the Cap.    

FAB. II. The Wolf and Porcupine.  

A Hungry Wolf, that longed to Dine  
Upon a well fed Porcupine,  
Found he had need of all his Skill  
To taste the Flesh, and 'scape the Quill:  
And therefore slily thus addressed,  
In Fawning Terms, the wary Beast.  
What is it Neighbour that you fear?  
What Enemy, what Danger's near?  
What means this Magazine of Arms,  
When Treaties signed secure from Harms?  
When all Hostilities must cease,  
Why such a Guard in Times of Peace?  
Why will you now in Safety bear  
The Burden, and Expense of War?  
To whom the crafty Beast replied,  
These are not for Defence, but Pride.  
For truly, Neighbour, as you say,  
They're useless at this time of Day,  
And I should be of your belief,  
Could I but see you draw your Teeth.   

Fr—ce is the wheedling Wolf, 'tis plain,  
That gapes for luscious Bit;  
And we know who's the Porcupine,  
But that she wants the Wit.   

What need of Fleets, or Armies now,  
That once were E— d 's Boast?  
Fr—ce to our Articles will bow,  
And guard the Spanish Coast.   

Let us disarm our Men of War,  
Since she such store equips;  
She'll save us that Expense and Care,  
And Convoy home our Ships.   

The Preparations at Compeign,  
And Breast, secure our Ports,  
They'll spare us Fifty Thousand Men,  
To Garrison our Forts.    

FAB. III. The Fox and Grapes.  

UPON a lusty Bunch of Grapes,  
A liquorish Fox had fixed his Eyes,  
Who licking of his watering Chaps,  
A thousand Tricks to reach it tries.   

But all his Wiles in vain essayed,  
Out of all hopes of getting nigh,  
What Fool for Unripe Trash, he said,  
Would risk his Neck to climb so high?   

That charming Fruit, (I dare allege)  
That looks so tempting and so fair,  
Will set some Coxcomb's Teeth on edge,  
Or draw some Fool into a Snare.   

Ambitious Men that miss their Aim,  
At least affect to be thought Wise,  
And court the Popular Esteem,  
By seeming Honours to despise.   

Those, whom the Mob their Patriots call,  
Factions and Jealousies foment;  
Masking with Common Good their Gall,  
And Public Zeal their Discontent.   

To busy Courts at first they throng,  
Till vexed, and hopeless to prevail,  
Or share in doing of the Wrong,  
In Senate's th'at Corruption rail.   

Courtier or Patriot by turns,  
The Hypocrite our Patience tries;  
Disgraced, our Grievances he mourns,  
Or laughs in place at Jealousies.    

FAB. IV. The Priest and Pears.  

A Wanton Sloven of a Priest,  
Invited to a Bridal Feast,  
Under a Hedge upon the Ground,  
A Hoard of Mellow Pears had found.  
These were, quoth he, to hungry Sinner,  
That had no hopes of Wedding-Dinner,  
Brave tempting Morsels, a rich Prize,  
Which at this juncture I despise,  
Now to more Rarities engaged,  
Than e'er in Noah's Ark were caged;  
Fish, Fowl, Fruit, Sweetmeats to excite,  
And rouse a Foundered Appetite;  
Therefore sweet Pears this time adieu,  
My Stomach will not stoop to you.  
Yet ere we part, we'll have a Jest,  
Then scornfully he on 'em Pist,  
And cried, who ere these Pears shall eat,  
He shall have Sauce as well as Meat.  
This done, impatient of delay,  
He jocundly pursued his Way,  
Most happy in Imagination,  
Chewing the Cud of Expectation.  
Till to a Brook approaching nigh,  
By Rains late fallen swelled so high,  
That 'twas impossible to pass;  
His grumbling Stomach called him Ass,  
And bid him Ford, or Swim the Flood,  
And make his vapring Promise good,  
Or, spite of all his Scoffs and Jeers,  
He, Sauce and all, should eat the Pears.   

The Priest, who Belly dearly loved,  
At this Reproach was strangely moved;  
Yet his unhappy case was such,  
He hated Danger full as much.  
At Disappointment sore dejected,  
He sadly on the Pears reflected:  
He was by Word and Honour bound  
To stand to't, and maintain his ground.  
And now the Pears so lovely grew,  
That Water from both ends they drew.  
He therefore all his cunning Bent,  
To find out some Expedient,  
To prove himself this once mistaken,  
And save his Credit and his Bacon.  
Inward he turned his sullen Looks,  
And rummaging o'er all his Books,  
He met an ancient Convocation,  
That furnished him with an Evasion.  
Quoth he, they could not be my due,  
Nor might I seize 'em till I knew,  
And Providence had time to prove,  
This heap of Pears was Treasure trouve:  
But now I plainly understand,  
They truly are a Deodand;  
And he that Abdicates 'em here,  
Has lost all Title to one Pear.  
And I should be a Fool no doubt,  
Should I stand any longer out.  
As for the Slain I cast on these,  
Myself can wipe it off with ease.    

FAB. V. The Ass and Spaniel.  

A Weary Ass under his Pack  
Stood tied up to an empty Rack,  
And spied a Spaniel brisk, and gay,  
As in his Master's lap he lay,  
That frisked about, and had the grace  
To climb his Shoulders, lick his Face,  
Was always plentifully fed,  
And from his hand received his Bread.  
Hard difference betwixt, quoth he,  
That happy, idle Cur, and Me.  
He daily is with Dainties served,  
While I, that drudge for all, am starved.  
But since he thrives so well by Play,  
I'll try my Fortune the same way.  
Thus having formed his Resolution,  
He waits a time for Execution.  
Which found, erecting Tail, and Ears,  
On Hinder-feets himself he rears,  
His Fore-feets on his Master lays,  
And with his Tongue besmears his Face.  
The Man, who guessed not his intent,  
Nor dreamt of such a Compliment,  
Surprised, and vexed, and half afraid,  
To Servants calls aloud for aid,  
To help him to correct th' Offence,  
And sore chastise this Insolence.  
And since Ass was so rampant grown  
He bids 'em take his Commons down;  
And henceforth bare Subsistance pay  
Of half Allowance ev'ry day.   

The Ass thus mortified, and sore,  
Vexed for his Bones, but Belly more,  
Cried, What a stupid Sot am I,  
My Talon thus to misapply?  
Who only for a Drudge am fit,  
And yet must set up for a Wit.   

Art may refine, and finish Nature's Fool,  
But no Buffoon succeeds, that goes by Rule;  
For Fooling prettily's a Gift of Nature's,  
That sits but aukwardly on Imitators.  
The lively, airy Marmouset, as soon  
May be out-frolickt by the grave Baboon,  
As Nature by dull Mimics of the Town.  
If Squirrel D D—y frisk on his Beholders,  
Must the Ass Gilled— n ramp upon their Shoulders,  
If Congreve flattered M—nt— gue before,  
Must he by Gilled— n too be slavered o'er?  
No wonder Sots, when we this Clod caress,  
Presume to claim the Deuce of neat Address.  
Such Poets should at Westminster untruss,  
And there receive the meed of Chaerilus;  
Yet I could spare the Sot, whoever repines,  
Could he like him produce but seven good Lines.  
But he expects Rewards, to blaze our Shame,  
For daring to buffoon a mighty Name.  
Let others judge, if he deserves the Rod,  
Who treats his Patron worse even than his God.  
What other Names will this vile Wretch blaspheme?  
For 'tis a Libel to be praised by him.  
But he now feels the Fate he does deserve,  
And knows already what it is to starve.  
Henceforth, Ye Great, tender your Reputations,  
Your Honours suffer by such Dedications.  
With Justice we may pay for Kneller 's hand,  
But who at Charges would on Sign-posts stand?  
If then the Author's dull to such degree,  
How stupid must the Sot that pays him be?    

FAB. VI The Grasshopper and the Ant,  

A Grasshopper once thus accosted an Ant.  
You know, Sir, what we Men of Quality want,  
'tis the Favour to lend me some Grains of your Store,  
For, Faith, at this minute, I am very poor.  
This Summer's Expenses have drawn me so low,  
I can scarce in the Park make my Figure, I vow.   

This comes on't, replied the frugal grave Cit,  
When Extravagance only's the measure of Wit.  
Had your Parents but bred you to Business, your Parts  
Might have got an Estate, now you have your Deserts.  
Says the Grasshopper, what would you have me to do,  
I'm not made for Work, besides I'm a Beau;  
I Sing, and I Dance, and all the fine Wether.  
I'm at Epsom, or Tunbridge, or Bath, choose you whether:  
Ask all the Beau Monde, and the Ladies, if e'er  
They had Music, or Ball, if I was not there.  
ev'ry Evening I my Compliment made,  
And treated with many a fine Serenade.   

'Tis pity the Ladies, quoth Ant, not to rally,  
Don't commiserate one, Sir, of your belle taillè,  
Your Youth, nor Estate neither of 'em can tarry,  
Look Sharp, Sir, about for a Fortune, and Marry.  
For trading so dead, and our Taxes so hard,  
Not a Farthing can out of our Business be spared  
But comfort! The Fleet, or King's-Bench, if you ask it,  
Will find you a Lodging, and Meat from the Basket.   

Fops that would starve for want of Sense,  
Petticoat Refugees,  
Ought much to thank that Providence,  
Which made 'em Women please.  
Swarms that had Rotten in a Jail,  
Yet want the Sense to pay  
Thanks to the Smock that was their Bail,  
But throw't like Rag away.  
Yet luckless thousands still contrive  
To spread like Butterflies,  
That like Beau Atkinson must live,  
Or like Beau Norton die.    

FAB. VII. The Ass and jupiter.  

A Gardener had a lazy Ass  
That hated a hard working place,  
And offered his Petition  
To Jove, with many a Sigh, and Groan,  
Which moved him by continued moan  
To pity his Condition.   

Jove, when his unjust prayer had heard,  
Next to a Potter him preferred;  
At which in Consternation,  
The Ass once more in doleful Dumps,  
Falling again upon his Stump,  
Renews his Supplication.   

Gran time my Suit one more, Great Jove  
Says he, I'll ask no third remove,  
From any third Disaster;  
What e'er you order, I'm content  
To undergo the Punishment  
Of any other Master.   

Oh! could You but this Grace afford!  
The God strait took him at his word,  
And placed him with a Tanner;  
The Ass grown wise, when 'twas too late,  
Bewails his Folly, and his Fate,  
In lamentable manner.   

What with the Gardener did I lack,  
My Bellyful, at ease my Back?  
The Potter gave me quarter.  
But this third Service I am in,  
Will strip me of my very Skin,  
And make me Folly's Martyr.   

A murmuring Mind is ne'er content,  
With any sort of Government;  
And Princes strive in vain to please,  
Such restless Spirits as know no ease.  
When Taxes ●●ke a Malcontent,  
Whom Wealth, and Power, made Insolent;  
What Measures must a Ruler take,  
To spare his Back, and save his Neck?  
In vain they kick at Slavery,  
Who grudge the charge of being free.    

FAB. VIII. The Owl and Bat.  

A Fierce dispute 'twixt Birds of Night  
Arose about their Gifts, and Light;  
The Owl and Bat aloud contended,  
Which was by Nature best befriended,  
Wrangling with clamorous Contest  
Which saw the clearest, and the best;  
Till from high Words, and angry Speeches,  
They came to Personal Reproaches.   

Quoth Madge, insulting o'er the Bat,  
What would this Flittermouse be at?  
Thou Mongrel Vermine art at most,  
And but half Bird thyself canst boast.   

The Bat replied with indignation,  
Make to yourself the Application;  
You're some Beast's Bastard it appears,  
As I'll demonstrate by your Ears.  
But what is this to our Dispute,  
If I am Vermine, you're a Brute.   

Then let's agree, the Owl replied,  
And by the Sun our Cause betrayed.  
A Nightingale that hard by fate,  
Thus undertook to Arbitrate:  
How shall the Sun decide your Case,  
When neither can endure his Face?  
You've said enough of Bats and Owls,  
To prove both purblind Knaves and Fools.   

The Bats, and Owls, of Pinner's-Hall,  
This Fable may apply;  
These Night-Birds representing all  
The Pastors, and their Fry.   

If any would know, whom they fit,  
Their Contraversies read;  
And see how oft the Sticks are split,  
To break each other's Head.   

But let 'em not the Truth come near,  
Nor venture into Light;  
For He that does barefaced oppear,  
Will show a Hypocrite.   

While they against each other bawl,  
They the whole World convince,  
And plainly show their want to all  
Of Faith, as well as Sense.    

FAB. IX. Sharpers and Cullies.  

TWo Sharpers once to Gaming fell,  
In a large Company;  
And managed their Intrigue so well,  
They drew in Standards by.   

They wrangled, quarrelled, and called names,  
And played with so much heat;  
That no one jealous of a shame,  
Suspected 'twas a Cheat,   

But when the Gamesters numerous grew,  
And store of Cullies came;  
Each from the other took his cue,  
To manage right his Game.   

A long time doubtful was the Scale,  
The odds uncertain were;  
For they do all by turns prevail,  
And none great Losers are.   

Till ev'ry one at length was dipped,  
And mighty sums were laid;  
The wink, one of the Jugglers tipped,  
And so the Cheat betrayed.   

But this Discovery came too late,  
For now the Game was won;  
An empty Pocket was their Fate,  
And all the Fools undone.   

Ex— quer, B-nk, and the Exchange,  
East-Indians Old, and New,  
And all the World this very Game,  
Too busily pursue.   

Notes, Bills and Stock, and Actions fall,  
Or without Reason rise;  
Just as the Jugglers at Wh—hall,  
Or M— cer's Chapel please.   

The Great One's have Sham-falling out,  
To draw the Lesser in;  
But the true Quarrel is, not who,  
But how much each shall win.   

And when the small One's give their Voice,  
Who shall be most Empowr'd;  
They have but Liberty of Choice,  
By whom they'll be devoured.    

FAB. X. The Wolf and Dog.  

A Half famished Wolf met a jolly fat Dog,  
That was let out for Air, and freed from the Clog  
Quoth Isgrim, Friend Towzer, thou hast what I lack,  
How comest thou by all this good Flesh on thy back?  
Says Towzer, I lodge, and am fed at Wh—hall.  
I live like a Prince, and do nothing but bawl.  
You live like a Felon, by paltry Sheep-stealing;  
But if you'll be ruled, and use double-dealing,  
I'll help you to mighty Preferment at C— rt,  
And you shall pay nothing, but Flattery for't.  
Quoth Isgrim, I like the Conditions so well,  
I long till I'm there, for I soon should excel;  
I can cringe like a Beau, and humour My Lord,  
And praise ev'ry foppish Nonsensical word.  
'Tis enough, says the Cur; so onward they jogged,  
Till Towzer, who often was collared and clogged,  
Like a Cur of good Manners in bowing betrayed  
The Ring on his Neck, which the Collar had made.  
Says the crafty sly Wolf, in that Circle some Spell  
I suppose is contained, by which you live well.  
'Tis only, says Towzer, ne'er mind it I pray,  
Some loose hair my Collar has fretted away.  
Says Isgrim, I owe you, Sir, thanks for this grace,  
But if there's a Collar, that altars the case.  
I'll purchase my Place by no such submission,  
But forage the Woods, and not alter Condition.   

The Wealth, and the Power of great Places please all,  
Who would shun the Fatigue, they're encumbered withal.  
They would have the Profit without the Attendance,  
And shift off the burden of slavish dependence.  
But here they may see by the Wolf, and the Dog,  
They that will have the Fat, must submit to the Clog.    
FINIS